


shameless wattage

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, Oral Sex, Self-Insert, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I'm real happy he's in line ahead of me and trying to figure out what kind of bagel he wants and totally oblivious to my idle fantasies of bending him over and introducing him to pegging.Guys that tall are usually a little uggo, anyways.





	shameless wattage

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this dubious self-insert with all of my quivering loins.

I’ve seen a lot of butts. Flat ones, bubbly ones, depressing ones, inspirational ones. This morning, the butt I’m staring at is a good one. High and perky and attached to a guy who’s seriously gigantic so I’m real happy he’s in line ahead of me and trying to figure out what kind of bagel he wants and totally oblivious to my idle fantasies of bending him over and introducing him to pegging.

Guys that tall are usually a little uggo, anyways. The Schrodinger dilemma of his facial beauty doesn’t stop me from tracing the way those “technical” pants cover his butt and thighs and thinking about biting them because it’s never too early to think about inflicting pain on guys who are too big to even be _real_ –

He cranes his head over his shoulder, frowning slightly. I blink blandly at him, looking like any customer who clings to calling Panera “Bread Co.” People in St. Louis can talk to each other friendly-like but not if they’re trying to get the last everything bagel because fucking Bread Co refuses to make more than, like, 18 of them each morning.

His Ken-doll-cute face looks a little familiar but that massive jawline isn’t ringing any cherries in my head, or the way he’s sucking on his lower lip. The guy says, “Were you staring at my ass?” I raise my eyebrows in the best former-altar-server way I can muster and say, “No.”

Guys usually don’t have a fucking clue when they’re being objectified, this society being a patriarchal hot mess. I suspect this one does only because it’s a Monday and the sky is pissing down and I’m running on four hours of sleep and not enough coffee and I’m a real sinner. Of course. His blond eyebrows twitch together and says, “Sure, ma’am.”

I could be insulted at the _ma’am_ but he fucking pinks up, like he’s a _little_ into saying “ma’am” in a sex way. The image of him panting that out as he’s trying not to come makes it easier to smirk. I shrug, “Sorry.” Sorry for being caught out.

More sorry that I finally put that face where it belongs. #55 for the Blues. I suffered through 1990s-era Blues and hyped signings of aging superstars too much to really love them the way people who went to high school in this town do. (Nota bene: I went to high school here too but so what.)

Beauty does cover up a lot of sins.

I know when I’m being looked over, and he at least does it, you know. _Properly_. Nothing…untowards, just like his dumb grin aimed at me. Colton fucking Parayko turns to put in his order. Which includes the fucking last everything bagel.

He’s not _that_ cute. Fuck it.

And his ass. Nursing my coffee while thinking about getting the _eye_ from him doesn’t help my mood. I’m not the world’s greatest flirt, or a tall svelte model or whatever. Fine, that’s why it’s called winning _a lottery_. Though I know I’m pretty good in bed. Not boasting if it’s true. Sadly, the chances of me actually getting nearer to Colton fucking Parayko’s ass than I did that morning is slim.

By Friday, I’ve decided it’d be a treasured memory, the time I got caught looking at prime hockey ass by a certain hockey player and got eyed in return. Makes it better that he’s got nil social media presence so I don’t have to struggle against the temptations of looking at his shirtless pictures or get my clit boner killed by his shitty socio-political takes.

Do I tell people about it? Why the fuck would I? St. Louis has a fucking memorial to people _leaving_ town (c.f. the Gateway Arch) and the Post-Dispatch will try to claim _any_ celebrity as a native St. Louisian even if they only spent  
three hours in a layover at Lambert. What I am saying is that Blues do not open that many doors. The city gets excited every time the Blues make playoffs and forget the entire lineup when they get knocked out.

I move on. Keep on top of my work, because I like having an internet connection and eating three times a day. Maybe giggle to myself after hours when I see a porn video titled _BIG BLOND GAGS ON COCK_ because my sense of humor is vile. St. Louis is small, but not _that_ small. I don’t hit Midtown (or whatever the fuck SLU will call it once it buys up every scrap of land) that often. I’ll never see that ass in front of me again. Such is life. Right?

Colton fucking Parayko didn’t get _that_ memo.

Bar Louie isn’t as trendy as it used to be almost seven years ago-- christ, I’m fucking _old_ – but all that means is that it’s packed with tight-wad millennials like myself. And that big blond. Who is sitting on the barstool I sat on before I went to the bathroom. Pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming is cliche but I do it anyways. Colton fucking Parayko is trying to be incognito and someone should tell him being that big really makes it hard. Also that he could get bottle service and free booze if he went elsewhere.

I belly-up to the bar, order a cocktail while pretending to ignore the very large man at the corner of my eye. The bar is a little too dark for my taste but maybe it’ll conceal my face enough to collect my drink and get far away.

Colton fucking Parayko turns towards me, leaning on his elbow. Says, “You.”

I grin at the bartender’s back before I say, “Me?” making sure to flutter my eyelashes. Sometimes pretending to be harmless and cute gets me further than I should go. He’s not taken in.

“You’re Panera Lady.”

Shit.

I would have thought you know, anyone with an interest in fucking asses would have rudely ogled him even worse than me between then and now. I bluff.

“Please don’t call it Panera.”

He narrows his eyes, “So you’re not denying it?” He’s trying to fight a smile, which is cute and I’m sure works on people who likes puppies. I smile back, a little mean, “Denying what?”

Drawing things out is one way of making conversation, and he actually licks his lips before he leans in and says confidentially, “Um. Looking at my ass.”

The bartender slides my cocktail in front of me and she and I give each other that shared _Look_. You know. The one you share with a pal when you both catch each other looking at a nice ass. I say thank you before paying the tip. I turn to him, says, “I have two eyes, and you were in front of me. I think that’s circumstantial evidence.”

“Not hearing a denial,” he says, stirring his whiskey sour, looking like he won a federal case. I sip my drink, feeling myself blush a little. I like having the upper hand. He’s not going to win. I lean closer, pressing my tongue against my lip before I say, “Denying something I may or may not have done? If I do deny it, you’ll still think I looked at your ass. If I don’t. Hmm.”

Colton grins, “And if you don’t, what happens?”

I wave a hand, hoist my drink up for another sip, “Eh, your ego gets inflated, you start thinking everyone is looking at your ass and then god knows what’d happen with that runaway ego.”

“So you’re doing me a favor,” he says. I can almost feel that raised eyebrow. I grin, pressing my thighs together. Once again, I have two eyes and an eagerness to ride a willing mouth, and he’s been talking to me for this long? I think I have a chance. He clears his throat, “So um. Awkward question?”

“Fire away.”

“Do you know who I am?” He’s cringing as he says it, like his ego is even bigger than the rest of him and he’s promptly ashamed of it.

I’m mean enough to pause before I say “Yes.”

The blush on his cheeks become a flush, one that I want to nibble at all the way down that impressive torso. I gently place my hand on his elbow. Even through his shirt I can feel how warm he is, and I give him my name. So that we’re on level ground.

No matter that I’m planning to call him _babe_ later to see how he’d react to that sweetness. He looks like he does his best to keep his mouth closed during sex, and I just adore wrecking big guys.

Colton fumblingly offers to pay for my drink. I take him up on it-- masculine egos like to provide-- and watch him pay up. I drag his straw over my lip. Really fucking obvious what that makes him think about, and I’ve always strongly felt you need to be crystal clear about sexing attractive people up when the chance presents itself. Colton bites on his lip, breathing, “Fuck you,” tugging at the crotch of his custom-made jeans.

Only way I can respond to that is to leer, “I’ll rather fuck _you_ ,” and watch him tear a hole in the merchant-copy receipt with his pen. He looks up at me, his fingers twitching on the bar countertop as he recovers towards being able to say, “You _were_ looking at my ass.” He’s smart enough to figure out what I want to do with it, and he isn’t running for the hills.

I’ve always wanted to touch a real hockey ass. Fucking it? Well, maybe I really was a saint in a previous life for this chance to come up. I press my side against his, “You looked at my tits. I’m sure we can come to an understanding, babe.” Colton gives a smile that can only be called sweet because it’s as sticky as honey, and he gives me his elbow. I take it, and make sure to press my chest against his torso as we slip out.

His place is nearby. We walk there, not saying anything to each other, because what words are better than knowing you’re about to get laid? He lives above ground floor, and the apartment complex is nice enough for there to be several cameras in the elevator car. I smile, and he mouths _behave_ as I scrape my nails against the back of his neck, rubbing against the short hair there. Oh, is it a bit of a strain on account of him being so tall? Yes, but no more than the strain his dick’s putting on his jeans. I make sure he sees me looking down at it and up at his face-- to keep it vulgar _enough_ –before the doors open.

Colton’s apartment is furnished with good financial advice. I press him gently against the door before he can try to give me the tour. He strokes my back, his hand huge on me, and kisses me. I kiss back, and pull back before my neck gets too strained. I stroke his belt before he can pout too much, and tug him closer to me, “Please tell me you’ve heard about everyone being the same height horizontally.”

Works on anyone, any size and height, and his hands slip down to squeeze my ass. “I’ll steal that, if you don’t mind?” he says, looking at me from under those eyelashes. I grind against him, making his jaw clench, and say “Show me your bed?” He takes my hand and–

Don’t be mistaken, reader, I want dirty filthy sex. Which is why I carefully note the size of his fingers and the neatness of his knuckles. Colton carefully licks his lips when he opens the door to his room, looking a little surprised at his hand still being in mine. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand, bite my lip purposefully, “How do you feel about fisting?”

Colton’s breath catches in his throat, and he flushes down past his shirt collar, his fingers curling over mine, “Isn’t that um. Not first-night-material?”

I toss my hair, “That wasn’t my question, babe.” Colton locks eyes with me, and says, “If it can be done.”

He’s thinking about it very hard now, and so am I, those sturdy fingers fucking me open as he tries to do it _sweetly_ and fails. Maybe he won’t do it tonight-- but there’s so many things to do with such a mountain. I smile. Take off my shirt, and my bra, because no one who doesn’t own tits knows what to do with bra hooks. I stretch, enough to make me look even better, and Colton flicks my jeans open with a muffled curse. I twist my hips, pressing the edges of my nails against his sides, “Fair is fair.”

Colton takes off his shirt, and oh, I can see why he avoids shirtless pictures with those delicious nipples. I slip my hands up to his tits, and squeeze. He squirms, and laughs it off, grinding his dick against my hip. I squeeze harder, “You’re quite tasty.”

He blurts out something about how I haven’t even put my mouth on him, his cheeks getting red. I lean back, and slip my jeans off, “Yet.”

I’ve never seen anyone peeling pants off faster than sweet Colton did to hop onto the sheets next to me. Even lying down, he’s a big boy, and slipping a kiss on his mouth makes him almost press me flat against the mattress. I rake my fingers through his hair, and arch an eyebrow. I don’t feel that cool and collected-- though I’m not the one sporting a hard on and trying not to rub off on a nearby hip. He smiles ruefully, turns on his side, almost accidentally showing off the roundness of his thighs, his dick curving back against one of them. I get to my knees.

“So polite,” I say as I stroke his dick. He doesn’t say anything, his hands clutching at the sheets. The pinkness on his face and neck stop right at his collarbone, and he squirms against me. For a hockey player, his skin is smooth. So I keep touching him, stroking him until he gasps, “Stop,” in that desperate way guys do when they really don’t want to come. I’m, hm, slightly disappointed, but not surprised.

Jocks are so. Mainstream.

My nails are just long enough to leave thin marks when I scrape them down his thighs, and yeah, my cunt twitches when Colton spreads his thighs for better access. His dick is modestly-sized against the rest of his body. Good thing I’ve never been a… size queen. Cupping his balls while I lick my lips make him grit his teeth, his thighs twitching as I carefully palm them, getting him even hotter. He’s too polite to ask for a blowjob, poor thing.

I’m not too polite to press my fingertip against the dark curl of his asshole, rubbing it enough for him to loosen up around me. His nipples are even perkier now, and I trace one of them while asking him, “Don’t you have lube?”

He takes a second to answer, too busy pressing back against my finger like he does this all the time, panting, “Fuck-- it’s in the bathroom.” He jerks his chin towards an ajar door, and I lean in closer, pressing my tits against his, “Be a good boy and get it.”

Colton twitches out precome against my hip, and almost _leaps_ out of the bed. I grin to myself, watching his bare ass duck into the bathroom. He comes back, a good-size bottle in his hand, and blushes when he sees me sprawled against the pillows. I tough myself, the same way I do nearly every night I’m alone, stroking my clit rude and maybe not pretty, but Colton’s pretty enough for both of _us_. He stands flushed and half-hard and looking like he needs a good pounding before he gets his mouth on my clit. I prop my knee up, enough for him to see how wet I am (gotta tease these babes to get them to do what you need), “You’ve seen naked people before, babe.”

“Not _you_ , though,” he fumbles, and oh, that was almost _smooth_. I pull him down to the sheets and kiss him, and he lets me, shivering when he scrapes his teeth against my lip. He presses the lube bottle into my hand, “Make it good.”

I hum, and he adds, “Please.” I keep touching myself, and pant, “I thought it was ladies first, babe.” He moans, curls his hand around my thigh, almost squeezing, “I wouldn’t call you a lady–”

That makes me grin, and push in three fingers, the slight sting of the stretch so much outstripped by Colton’s parted lips, looking _envious_ of me fucking myself. My hips twitch, and I say, “Surely you can figure out what I want you to do.” Colton narrows his eyes at me, on the edge between annoyed and aroused. I rub my thumb over the hood of my lips, more show than feel, “Maybe you can even bring yourself to fingerbang me,” leering up at him.

Colton curls a hand around my wrist. My fingers slip against my folds, and he accuses me of being a tease. He gets in closer between my thighs, my knees bracketing his hips, and squeezes out lube over where my fingers are stroking. I clench back a moan-- fucker didn’t even roll the lube between those big hands of his, and the soft smirk on his face means I wasn’t _that_ successful. My fingertips slip in the cold slickness, the noise oddly loud between us, and he rubs one of my lips, “If I do fingerbang you-”

I lean my head back, “Yeah?” Colton flushes again, his finger slipping into my cunt, his knuckles bumping against me. I clench around it, “Takes more than one, sweetie. Or did you think I’m a babe in the woods?” He swallows, chooses to keep his mouth shut rather than try to keep up with me, and presses another finger into me. His fingers are thicker, longer, and even though he’s not touching me the way I touch myself, the stretch still makes my nipples hard and my hips squirm.

“Look at _you_ ,” Colton breathes, taking in the slick of sweat I can feel on my neck, and then scrapes his teeth across my throat while thrusting his fingers _in_. I arch off the sheets, and he swears, a quick dirty _fuck_ on that pretty mouth. I press my fingers against his mouth, watching his eyelashes flutter before he adds a third finger. The kit-kat meme flashes across my mind and maybe, sure, I laugh, but I’m also clenching down on those huge fingers in me, stroking inside, feeling like I could be even fuller. I like what I like, and Colton stroking my clit with his broad thumb is enough for me to get even wetter.

Hopefully I’m leaving a wet spot for me to push that wide, innocent-seeming face in while I ream the fuck out of his ass.

I scrape my fingers down the back of his arms, making him hiss between his teeth before he thrusts in. Colton sounds out of breath, and his pinky isn’t in even me. My cunt is too heavy for him to be so gentle like this, and I shout when he pours even more cold lube right where he’s fucking me. Colton sucks on the underside of my tit, “Sorry?”

“Keep going,” I grit out, nudging his arm with my knee. My clit jumps, and he licks his lips. They’re deeply pink, like the tip of his dick rubbing against the sheets, and I have enough manners not to shove his head down on my clit, despite how much I want him to suck on it while he fucking bangs me–

Just because a jock gets dragged to pussy doesn’t mean he’d eat it, and Colton keeps flicking his eyes from where he’s trying to fingerbang me, three deep and wide, to my face, like he wants to be told what to do. I curl my fingers in his hair, “You know how to eat pussy, babe?”

Colton trembles between my legs. The hot slickness of his mouth on my clit is answer enough, and he’s moaning, like he could maybe make me come into a better mood by trying to be so pretty between my legs and his pinky brushing against my asshole. I carefully press his face in closer, breathe, “You’re going to use those fingers too.”

He is a very good boy, despite shivering as he thrusts his hand in, harder if not faster, stroking near my abs, his mouth drooling around my cunt as he pants and tries to look up at me. I grind myself against his face, almost coo on how sweet his hand feels filling me up, and call him a dirty cuntsucker instead, panting as he tries to ignore it. My thighs press against his ears, his shoulder bumping up against my ass. Colton growls, his pinky dipping in just enough on the bottom of my cunt to make the way he’s licking around me feel _really_ good–

My orgasm doesn’t take me by surprise. Colton keeps working, trying to draw out my flutters, groaning against me when he finally gets his pinky _in_ , and the thrust of those fingers make me clench, my abs shaking. Colton smooths his hot hand against them, stroking my stomach as he tries to fuck the wide span of his fingers in again. I sigh, “Fuck, yeah, babe–”

Why try to hide how good he’s being? How good my body feels?

The sweet smile Colton gives me, with his fingers deep in my cunt and his face slick from pussy and lube, makes my oversensitive clit twitch. I sigh, thrusting back into his fingers, and he cups my tit before he asks, “You all right?”

Oh, am I. Tomorrow means I’ll be sore, the sort of sore I can press down on an swivel chair and hum to myself while thinking about those hands, the way he’s trying so _hard_ to be satisfactory. I was a good student in school too; takes a teacher’s pet to know another one.

I stroke his cheek, say yes, and I want to ruin him even more when he kisses me. He eases his hand out of me, too carefully for my taste, and he scrubs it on the sheets before he clears his throat, “Do you want me on my hands and knees?” I scrape my thumb across his lips, kiss him, and tell him to get on his back.

With his legs spread.

Colton avidly watches me warm up lube between my fingers. I shift onto my knees, looking down at him, “Are _you_ a babe in the woods?”

“Is that why you keep calling me babe?” Colton bites his lip as he smiles, easily stroking himself. His dick is still half-hard thanks to his constant grinding against the bed while he was sucking me off. He should be perfectly aware of what he looks like, which is an overgrown schoolboy in need of a severe rod. Heh. He props himself up with a stack of pillows, lifting his hips with an easy grace that he shouldn’t have because he’s so fucking big.

I rub my fingers together, “I keep calling you babe to distract myself from sucking on your sweet tits,” which does make him try to cover up a blush with his still-sticky hand. Colton clears his throat, thrusts his pecs out with a smirk. Scooting in between his legs, I say, “You’re so greedy,” skimming my palm over his dick.

Colton drops his eyes to my fingers, touching his thighs and nowhere close to what he wants, “Yeah,” and leans back against the pillows. His thighs are starkly pale-- probably doesn’t tan with that complexion of his-- and I lick my lips as I carefully rub circles against his asshole. He presses back, his breathing this side of unsteady, and I lean down to suck the tip of his dick.

He groans, but doesn’t push himself into my mouth, and it’s so easy to call him a good boy because he’s so damn polite. He laughs, relaxing against me, and I press in carefully. He’s tight, probably doesn’t do this too often, doesn’t want to mess with his _game_ , and I lick up his dick with the flat of my tongue. I know it’s more porn-star-showy than anything, but he whimpers just like a kid raised on the internet anyways.

His dick leaks precome across my lip. I lick it before I press my finger in a little deeper, carefully, and ask, “When was the last time you fucked yourself?” My fingertip slip across his prostate, making his eyelids flutter before he can manage a word. Colton swallows, pressing back against my finger, “Been a while- nh-- but I’m hard on myself.”

Oh, what an image, him on his knees trying to screw his fingers in _deeper_ , his face as densely pink then as it is now, maybe making himself cry. I ease in another finger, brushing my lip across his jaw as he closes his eyes. He’s fever hot outside and on the inside, the lube barely making it easy for me to press past his clenches. I add more lube, my fingers slipping on the bottle before I can pour more. His asshole pulls at my finger, and I stroke the rim before I push in with two fingers. I go carefully and the soft moan Colton gives up means I wasn’t _wrong_.

His nipples are hard, suckable. I cup one with my dry hand before I thrust in slowly, making his thighs jerk and shake. He forces out air through his nose, leans against my hands, and I stroke his prostate. He does half of the work, rolling his hips and asking for more in between pressing his arm over his face at how open he feels, at me fucking him and biting back his noises. His lips are even redder, and I scrape my teeth on them to make him clench tight around me. I laugh before I push in, brushing another finger against his stretched rim, just a tease to make him even harder.

I fuck him like that, my fingers up his ass, and anyone who complains about tired arms isn’t keeping their eyes on the prize. He’s so fucking wound up, his prostate getting worked on, that the moment I lean down to suck on his dick he comes in my mouth.

Colton whimpers, “Fuck, shit,” but he keeps rolling his hips, trying to get more from my fingers. I curl my fingers, grinding up against his prostate, and he shouts, his dick twitching out more come with each grind. He’s wrecked, his hair a lank sweaty mess, and I run my tongue across my teeth before I dig my nails against the firm curve of his tit. He stiffens, his eyes fucking _limpid pools of blue_ , and says, “Babe.”

I ease my fingers out of him. Take him in, shades of white and pink, his spent dick curving over his abs and his asshole almost puffy-- and maybe he’ll smirk to himself when he sits down tomorrow-- and kiss him. Colton’s lips are chapped from licking and biting them so much, but his hands are still smooth when they squeeze my ass. I grind back against his hands, and smile at him.

He smiles back.

He’s for sure letting me take a shower here. I know I can talk him into letting me suck his nipples. Maybe go for a second round.

Sweet. 


End file.
